An allegorical alliteration adventure
The Perils of Prague
When Samgre Sagor woke from feverishly dreadful dreams, a sanguine sun had already risen beyond the transformed topography of his cursed city. Haphazardly, his hand hurried for the alarm clock to investigate a likely lost warning whistle when he found it transformed to a horrid hog claw. More sore than surprised, he failed to swing his swine’s butt out of bed. A fleeting flash at the reflective alloy of his butcher blades confirmed his conjecture, where once was belly, back and bone is now soon-to-be bacon, loin and lard.
The sleeping slaughterer has become a bedridden boar, his hapless home a grim graveyard for his four-legged lot.
At noon, a naïve nine-to-fiver finally found him squeal serendipitously. Then the bygone butcher became awfully aware of his problematic peculiarity; how to sensibly signal the bewildered boy that he had been butcher before beast?
The mute messenger mouthed for help hopefully, yet his imploring irises only met meticulous mentality, cold calculation and a heavy Hollywood hammer.
Searing seasonal sea salt readily roused the unconscious unfortunate back before a final feast. His mangled head must have made main course, coincidentally conscious by cruel circumstance or fair fate.
Some surplus of setting sunlight surely broke beautifully between his dangling demi-carcasses close to his hoggish heart.